Father and Son
by Ink Dinkedink
Summary: I have no father. My father is dead. He's that great hero who restored Alchemy to the world. The legendary hero people write plays and songs about. The hero who left his family and friends behind to chase more glory – and never returned.


Golden sun © Nintendo/Camelot

Story written by "Favri the Fisher".

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**F****avri's says:** This used to be on my LJ (Crapfic Tiemz), but I moved it here since it took up so many posts. Story is set a year prior to Oxymoro- Uh, the Third Installment.

* * *

**I** have no father. My father is dead.

Or so I've been telling myself for the past dozen years of my life, even though the whole world knows who he is, and that he probably won't die for another three decades or four.

He's that great hero. That great hero who fired the Lighthouses and restored Alchemy to the world. The Warrior of Vale. The last captain of the Valian Order. The legendary hero people write plays and songs about. The hero who left his family and friends behind to chase more glory – and never returned to see them again – not even once.

He disappeared when I was three years old. I can't remember his face. I just remember a dark silhouette kissing my mother goodbye in a warm autumn evening, and disappearing into the golden horizon; never to show up in our lives again. My mother held my hand so tightly that day, and when I looked up, I saw a tear tracing a path down her cheek.

That was the only time I saw Mother cry – ever.

* * *

**M**y mother is a strong woman. I consider myself lucky for having her as my mother. My mother is strong, in spirit and in body, but still has a heart big enough to forgive. She empowers people, inspiring them to find a brighter future and I admire her greatly. She yields to no one; not the king, the prince, bandits and wizards, or even the goldsmith who once managed to push my father over the edge. She only yielded to one person… she yielded to the worthless man who fathered me.

I don't know the story in detail, and I wouldn't buy the theatrical versions of their tale. But I know they grew up together, and had always loved each other – my uncle could testify for that. Their love was tested several times in youth, and it seemed nothing could break them apart. Even the rift that drove my uncle away from my father couldn't pull my parents apart. So how did things get down to this?

My father never wanted to be a hero, or so my mother tells me. She says he just wanted to settle down, raise a family and live an easy life. Uncle Ivan can testify for that – he has leftover cards from the cancelled wedding, being of the people who worked hardest to get it off the ground. A relative of mine, my second cousin once removed to be exact, still has the rings my father commissioned from him. My mother told him to sell them, but I still see them in his workshop. Many people are on uneven grounds with my father, but most of those people truly want to see my mother happy – the cranky goldsmith is no exception.

It isn't easy to raise a child as a single parent, let alone as an unmarried woman. But my mother did it. And that's why I am here – alive, strong, contributing to society.

I am well mannered and well schooled in speech and writing. I am a good magician and a decent swordsman, if I'd have to say so myself. I know how to work with people and deal with enemies in a civilized and lawful way.

I study every day and I return on evenings to the restaurant to help my mother and grandparents out. On weekends, I stand behind the counter smiling at customers. When my father's insane admirers or enemies bother my family, I have to deal with them.

No one can say I'm spoiled because I'm an only child. No one can say I'm lazy just because I have rich relatives and famous family friends who help take care of my family. No one can say I'm rude and impudent because I have no father to keep me in check. And one can say I'm proud or arrogant, just because my father is a hero. In fact, I wish my father was an ordinary man who could cheer me on in my duels, praise me for my accomplishments, and reprimand me when I mess up. I'd rather have a father who could go fishing with me on Sundays, instead of a father who saves the world somewhere far away where I can't see him.

People all over the world travel to our restaurant in Kalay to see the "Warriors of Vale" – my father being the main attraction. Most of these admirers ask to be my father's student or disciple, or to train with him a few years. Needless to say, some are very persistent and refuse to believe he isn't around here anymore. We do direct them to my uncles who are teachers of magic here in Kalay, but more often than not, they refuse to take anything "second best" – which is ironic, considering my father himself admitted he was second to Uncle Ivan when it came to magic and that Captain Piers mopped the floor with him in a duel of blades.

How I know this? I have a journal my old man wrote during the first weeks after this "legendary quest". My mother gave it to me, saying it might help me understand why he left us behind. Even though I understand that he was a reluctant hero, I cannot forgive him for leaving us behind with all these troublesome admirer and enemies.

Yes, I did say enemies. These "Psynergy critics", as Uncle Ivan calls them, visit our restaurant from time to time. They mainly come over to slander or to vandalize our property. They point my father out as a scapegoat when the first Psynergy vortexes appeared some years ago and demand that amends were made from him. Yes, we are protected by the law, but it is very hard to do business with these troublemakers around. My real uncle, Felix, was attacked on his way back from the magic academy months ago with red paint. He wasn't happy about it, to say the least, and it wasn't the first time these kinds of things happened.

My uncle was on very bad terms with my father. Uncle Felix is the forgotten hero. Everyone praises my father, but seems to forget my uncle is just as much of a hero as he is, perhaps even more. His story just doesn't sell so well in the theatre, mainly because he didn't chase pale skinned villains who kidnapped his one true love. His first priority wasn't to save the world– his family and friends always came first. He was coerced into his task – a young scribe forced to pick up a sword and fight. He was a victim of circumstances, a plaything of fate…

Rumours say my uncle had always hated my father. That is not true at all. They used to be best friends, and no one had been as supportive to my mother and father's relationship as Uncle Felix. But something happened during the "quest" that made him change his mind about my father. Uncle says he got over it though, that he decided he still loved my father despite his jarring personality flaws – It was his selfish decisions later that ended it all. My father scheduled a wedding, but he faltered on the last minute and didn't arrive to the altar. You can imagine the shame and humiliation everyone involved suffered. Even so, my uncle tried being an understanding friend, if only for my mother's sake. Even when my father years later impregnated my mother, my uncle tried being an understanding friend. But when my father left Kalay without a word, he could no longer be a forgiving friend. And to make matters worse, the man also left his entire family behind. In theory, Uncle Felix didn't need to do anything about it, but in reality he was compelled to support his sister, and raise his nephew.

I always thought my uncle didn't care about fame and glory, but it seems he does to some degree. He hates the Kalayan Troupe for distorting his character; making him a weak version of my father and turning him into my father's follower, when it was the other way around in reality. He hates the "idiots" who try glorifying my father's deed at the Mars Lighthouse. Because that was the one deed that broke my father and uncle's lifelong friendship.

I remember the day we were invited to a newly constructed Psynergy training ground in the east when I was six years old. Uncle Felix was outraged, to say the least, and who could blame him? Not only did people reduce him to a pawn in the theatre, but people also tarnished the images of his northern allies in the education business! But it was the "Dim Dragon" that caused him to boil over. How dare they make a mockery out of what was the most traumatizing event of his life! Did anyone remember that it was his own parents he fought? Did anyone remember that even my "heroic" father was deeply ashamed of what he did at the Mars Lighthouse?

Uncle Felix says he would have torn the place down, had I not been there holding his hand. Needless to say, he decided to tutor me himself instead of relying on those idiots who didn't even bother asking him for the true story before making edits.

My uncle is the closest thing I have for a father figure. He seldom smiles, but I happen to be one of the few people who could bring a true smile to his face. My mother says he used to be carefree and cheerful, but to me, he'd always seemed very sad about where his life had taken him. I spend a lot of time with him. I always try cheering him up and in return he teaches how to read, write, speak properly, and swordfight…

Yes, Uncle Felix is a good fencer. He uses a very graceful style compared the style my grandfather teaches me. It's surprising that he came from a peasant family. He says he used to be an explorer, but refuses to talk about it when I try digging deeper. Yet, when I see him look into the distant sunset on evenings, I knew he should have been more than a man in field of magic education. He always seemed very excited when he led field trips or expeditions outside the city. I could always see he wanted more from his life, but he had been chained to the city by his responsibility to put food on the table. It was father's job, we all know it, but Uncle Felix gave up his owns dreams to let my father run free. Sometimes, I don't know if I should call him a saint, or a selfless fool.

We were poor. Very poor. Living under a distant relative's roof at the time. That relative was a rich cousin, the same cousin who still has my parents' wedding bands. He was a famous goldsmith in his time. He owns the biggest jewellery company out of all Angara. He lent my mother money to buy the restaurant and also paid the carpenters who built our house. And since we live three generations under the same roof, you know it wasn't simple a hut any refugee could afford. I don't see him around much nowadays, since he's busy raising his grandchildren, or writing plays for the theatre on his free time. But sometimes he comes over to help out in the restaurant, or to offer us some of his homemade scones. He speaks ill of my father, and is usually a lot harsher than my uncle is, often because of personal reasons.

He says my father was a man who was very uneducated in the literary arts; he mixed up orders and broke things in the workshop, and chased away customers when he stood behind the counter. He says my father was a peasant with poor manners and quite vindictive when pushed over the edge. My father ruined him once, and was fanning the flames when he was being hunted by debt collectors. It was my mother who had mercy on my bankrupt cousin and lent him a sum of money. He used it wisely and he clawed his way back to the top.

I know I make it sound like my father had no friends, but I'm going to correct that now.

Uncle Ivan tutored me in advanced magic after I'd become a full-fletched Adept. He says it is fitting that he was made my teacher. He says my father taught him Psynergy when he was a teenager. He told me of the days when magic was a dark art, when Adepts were outlawed as warlocks and witches. He told me of how his unusual gift of being able to read thoughts and tell truths from lies made him an outcast among people, and how my father "embraced him and took him into his heart despite great fear and doubts". My father saved his life many times, he told me, and he saved my father's soul.

I doubted his tales at first; it sounded a lot like outtakes from a stupid play the Kalayan Troupe would tour around Angara with – an attempt to make my worthless father look good. But he invited me home to his estate and showed me an old longsword hanging from the wall of the living room. That sword once belonged to my father, his father, and the father before him – my grandfather can testify for that. My father apparently gave his family heirloom away to Uncle Ivan – as a token of friendship, and he had treasured it to this day. While it doesn't explain whether my father is this nice person or not, it does explain why Uncle Ivan looks after us – despite being such a famous figure in Kalay. He is the former prince and the founder of the magic academy. It was his great interest in the ancient past that made him give up his claim for the throne and become a researcher and Psynergy instructor. He is a man of many talents, just like my uncle. He is arguably the most powerful magician in Angara. He is a decent swordsman and handles staves very skilfully as well. He is also an archaeologist, inventor, engineer, writer, artist, musician… He oversees several projects that attempts recreate the ancient technologies that once powered the civilizations of old, and is fascinated by the concept of human flight – a common thing back in the Golden Age. He has tried recreating it for many years, and has only recently succeeded with the Soarwing prototype. It's basically a magic hang-glider, but it has some very impressive attributes. Sadly, it is hard to pilot without advanced Psynergy training, so he has no plans on having it reproduced, yet. But I believe a man with skills as Uncle Ivan's can improve it.

Uncle Ivan might dress in velvet and gold, but he is not arrogant or proud. He is a stark contrast to my rich cousin who steps on everyone he can. Uncle Ivan invites my over to his home regularly, and naturally I am good friends with his daughter Karis. Karis admires my mother greatly. She likes to come over and help my mother out in the restaurant. We trained our Psynergy together since we were children, and when her father began teaching us the advanced magics, a rash boy named Tyrell came along. He's the child of another family friend, another Valian Hero named Garet. He married a goat herder and moved to the Goma highlands. Tyrell was sent here for tutelage because of the lack of decent teachers in the east. He lived with his relatives in the city. Just as Karis adores my mother, Tyrell admired my father. He often used his name when it wasn't really necessary. I found it rather annoying. And no, I didn't believe he had met my father in person, or that my father taught him Psynergy once – my father is probably too busy slaying dragons to be teaching children how to do magic tricks. But despite Tyrell's lack of manners from coming from the countryside, Karis and I enjoyed spending time with him. Sadly, he left a couple of years before "graduation" – he was worried about his sick mother. I heard she died months later… We haven't seen Tyrell since, but my cousins carry letters between us – they do business with Tyrell's father on monthly basis.

Uncle Ivan is one of the few people who knows where my father hides or travels. His lips are sealed though, and even when threatened with my real uncle's personal apocalypse, he refuses to tell – much to my mother's relief.

My mother always insist that she can deal with the harsh life she'd leading, and that she has the ability to support two families; her own, which included me and my grandparents on her side, as well as my father's parents.

Sometimes, I wonder if their lives could have been better if I had never been conceived. In the past, many fine men have expressed their interest in my mother, who didn't look a day over twenty-five. Some of the wealthier men even said they didn't mind to adopt me. But my mother, she never gave it a thought, even though my father apparently has no intention of ever returning to us.

My uncle says I was a mistake, the fruit of one of my worthless father's drunken nights. My mother doesn't speak fondly of it either when I ask, but she says she has no regrets and that she stills loves my father greatly. She says she understood what she was got herself into when she decided to keep me. She says she'd never blamed my father for leaving her – not even once – because she already knew that he wouldn't return. She says my father is not the bad person I think he is. She says he told her to marry someone better instead of waiting for him. She says my father even told her to tell me my father was a nameless mercenary who died in a mission.

I worry when I see my mother look out to the evening horizon every year – on that day he left us in Kalay to pursue his owns dreams, or to remain free, as my uncle puts it. But I have never been so worried for her as this year.

My grandfather from my father's side is a seasoned warrior. He had been exposed to the Light of Mars and is still as springy as he was twenty years ago. He still works as a city guard. My grandmother however, aged as any normal human being does. She was constantly ill and needed to be taken care of. My grandparents from my mother's side paid a great deal for foreign doctors to come and treat her. Since she was growing weaker each day, they grew desperate. My grandmother on Mother's side trusted a con artist and lost all her savings. And in the end, my sick grandmother didn't make it. She succumbed to illness and passed away. On her deathbed, her dying wish was to see my father for one last time.

We all knew it wasn't possible. Even if we _could_ contact my father, he wouldn't be able to make it back in time – unless he's been hiding in the attic all along. Instead, I went to the Kalayan theatre and borrowed a costume. I think she knew it was me, but she passed away with a smile.

Uncle Ivan said he sent an express message to my father with a pigeon, asking him to come to the funeral. But my father didn't arrive. My living grandparents were sad and disappointed, to say the least. My mother and my "fake" uncle said nothing – as if they already knew the outcome. My real uncle… he was outraged, and it's actually an understatement.

Shortly after we got back from the funeral, he unexpectedly lashed out at Uncle Ivan at the mention of my father's name. He said he couldn't believe he'd been helping such a heartless person for twelve years, and that if he knew where my father was he'd seek him out and kill him.

It was the frustration he'd been keeping all these years and the spite he had for my father since he stole his glory and kept him back in Kalay. My uncle was an explorer, and my father made him give up everything. It wasn't fair on his part – it had never been. He'd always been a silent martyr. We later found him weeping on the balcony at sunset, and he repeatedly apologized to Uncle Ivan for his manners during the day. But Mother told him he was the best brother she could wish for, and embraced him. She convinced Uncle to leave Kalay and chase his own dreams. She said he had done enough for her and that it was time for him to live for himself – not for others. We saw him off at early morning. He was worried about us before he left. He embraced me, and through tears he asked me to never grow up to be an irresponsible jerk like my father. Only when my mother assured him we'd be all right, he left with smile.

And it was only fair. Because he shouldn't have been wasting those years. _My father_ should have been supporting the family, not him, nor Uncle Ivan, nor my cousins.

* * *

**I** left Kalay when those hooligans gave the restaurant yet another makeover – it was probably because my uncle wasn't here anymore. If Mother and Grandfather hadn't been such powerful Adepts, they'd probably have torched the restaurant. My mother was exhausted from work, and it was painful to see her having to deal with troublemakers afterward. She collapsed at work last Friday. In a feverish dream I heard her mutter my father's name…

I knew by then that I had to find my father. For a long time, I've pretended him to be dead. He might as well have been. In fact, I might have been a happier person if he really was a nameless mercenary who died twelve years ago in a mission. But he wasn't. He was a hero who ran away – a failure of a man who left his woman and child behind.

I had to find him. I had to bring him back to Kalay and make him take responsibility for his actions. For my mother's sake – for everyone's sake. I haven't seen my father for twelve years. He never returned since he left and no one told me where he was – he made sure we got all troubles piled on us while he hid. But I've had enough of his irresponsibility and cowardice.

The only person with direct contact with him is Uncle Ivan, but his lips are sealed with a promise or something. But I never planned to ask him – I'll find the answer on my own.

I had Karis invite me to her home for Psynergy practice. I then used an excuse to leave, but in fact stole myself into Uncle Ivan's study using the lockpicking skills learnt from working in the goldsmith's workshop. I lockpicked a box hidden in his drawers, which contained all the letters he's been receiving from my father during the past twelve years. The latest letter was dated a couple of weeks back, so apparently my father didn't respond to the letter about my grandmother's death.

I read each letter, and found out he lived as sort of freeloader in Tyrell's family in the highlands. From what I could pick up from the letters he was doing research of some sort, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that I'd pinpointed his location and could now seek him out.

I was caught red-handed, of course. Karis caught me looting her father's drawers and instantly brought me before Uncle Ivan. He was speechless once he realized I'd read all the letters.

I confronted him about my father. I said my father was a worthless man who left his woman and child behind to do stupid "research". I asked Uncle Ivan how he could defend such an irresponsible person. I asked him how my father could be the selfless and loving person he always says he is. I told him my father just cared for fame and glory and wouldn't care less if Mother and I were killed by anti Psynergy goons. I said my uncle had been attacked in his place for years while he sat in a goddamn summerhouse enjoying the view.

Uncle Ivan was taken aback by my sudden outburst. He always considered me a docile student, taking after my uncle. But then, he smiled meekly and led me to out from his study and to his living room. He retrieved the old longsword from the wall and gave it me, along with directions to the Goma Plateau – the place where I would find my old man. I asked him why he changed his mind, but all he did was smile. He has always been hard to read. It was always him reading other's minds. Others could never understand what he truly was thinking. But the important thing was that he didn't try to stop me in my quest, and helped me instead.

My mother wasn't exactly shocked once she found out my decision to ascend the Goma Plateau. I promised her I would return, and that I'd bring my useless father back as well. But even though my words were mature for my age, and my promise sure, I was still worried. I probably wouldn't have too much of a problem _finding_ my father – I've seen the plays and know how he should look like. I also know Tyrell, and once I find him my father wouldn't be far away from reach. But last time my father saw me was twelve years ago – I was a small child back then – would _he_ recognize _me_ now when I've grown up? I can't think of a way to bring him home if I'd fail to prove my identity.

My mother smiled. She went to her drawers, opened a locked box and picked up a sort of yellow scrap fabric or a piece of an old curtain, which she wrapped around my neck as a scarf. There was an evident seam in the middle, and the quality of the fabric clearly varied on both sides of the seam - it had been torn and then extended. At the end of the newer part was my father's name embroidered. The stitches were crude, obviously done with my mother's own hands and not a professional, so I assumed this scarf had its own tale in my parents' love story.

"He'll recognize you," said Mother, "don't worry about that."

And I nodded. That is true. I was probably just paranoid - everyone said I had my father's face. I hugged her. I told her I loved her, and that I'll send a message home once I've found him. And she brushed a hand along the side of my face, kissed my forehead, and smiled; a true smile I haven't seen for many, many years.

I borrowed a horse from my cousin and rode eastward at evening. I vowed no return until I've found the useless man who was my father. I had to find him and demand explanation for his behaviour all those years. I arrived to the outpost in the highlands a couple of days later. At lunchtime I ascended the plateau after asking around the area for directions and the safest road. Around afternoon, I saw the cabin Tyrell's family resided in.

My father was supposed to live there too. He should be a herder – Tyrell said his family herded goats and hunted for a living. But considering how my cousins delivered supplies to him every month, "goatherder" might just be a cover up – just the same way Tyrell's father's name was used instead of my old man's. My father had been careful not to let my uncle and I track him down. He also made sure his annoying admirers and the anti Psynergy community couldn't find him either.

I took a break and sat down by the road to eat. When I'd unwrapped my sandwich, I suddenly spotted a lonely man sitting by the side of road a little bit further way, casting a long shadow across the rocky path. He wore a long coat and a slouch hat and was drinking from a canteen.

I walked up to him to ask for directions for a safe way to the herders' cabin. He lifted his gaze to look up at me and I saw from his rosy cheeks that he was intoxicated. I guessed his age at early thirties. He was an ungroomed tramp – his red beard grew all over his face and on his neck, and his red mullet was dirty and tousled, as if he'd never seen a comb before. He spoke with a raspy voice, and his ways of speech revealed a lack of manners. He also made it clear to me that he wasn't going to give away my father's location.

"Isaac? The Hero?" he spluttered and drank from his canteen again. "Why would he be here? I bet he's too busy killing dragons and won't have time to teach children magic tricks."

I stared down at him and narrowed my eyes, but he just looked away smiled sheepishly, waving me away with his free hand. I left him for himself and went back to eat. But when I was finally done with the food and went on towards Tyrell's home, the tramp suddenly ran up to me and yanked my scarf when I passed him.

"_What's_ your problem?" I snapped at him. "_Let go!_"

"Kid," he then said, his tone suddenly less drunk than before, "where did you get the scarf?"

"None of your business!" I replied, but he angrily yanked my scarf again, and it hurt. I coughed and tried pulling it back, but he was very strong and refused to yield. I tried hitting him, but he dodged the punch, dropping his hat in the process.

I looked at him, in the eyes. They were cornflower; like mine…

"My mother gave it to me," I finally said.

The tramp's intense gaze suddenly dissolved into a look of astonishment. His grip around my scarf lightened, and the scrap fabric gently slid out of his grasp. And as I thought, he had grabbed the end with my mother's shabby embroidery on it.

"Your… mother?" he said.

"Yes," I replied, not moving a muscle. "She runs a restaurant in Kalay. She puts food on the table for two families, because my worthless father ran away."

Hearing that, the man averted his eyes and turned his back towards me, taking a few steps away. He was a swordsman, I could see, carrying a sword on his back… just like me.

"Why are you here?" he then asked, not facing me.

"I am here to find the bastard who put my mother through twelve years of suffering." I replied, staring him down. "I'm here to find the failure of a man who left his parents, his woman and his son behind twelve years ago in Kalay, erasing all traces of his path and not even returning for his own mother's funeral!"

"Your grandmother… is dead?" he said, and placed a hand to the side of his head, bowing down a bit as he staggered another step away from me.

I gave him a joyless chuckle.

"Yes," I finally said. "Yes, she is, _my dear father – saviour of the world_."

He flinched, and then slowly turned to look at me. He stared, his mouth hanging open, as he raised a hand – as if to touch me – but then suddenly let it fall to his side. He looked away, again.

"Isaac – the Warrior of Vale, isn't it?" I asked.

My father didn't speak for a moment.

"What's your name?" he then spoke, his voice low with shame… guilt.

"Why do you ask?" I suddenly shouted at him, infuriated by the ridiculous question. "_You named me!_ Have you forgotten the name you picked for your son? Just like_ everything else_?_"_

I reached out to tear off his stupid red wig, only to find that the hair was real. He didn't resist the assault, but gazed up at me. When I finally let go, he staggered back and looked at me in eyes.

"_Matthew?_" he whispered hesitantly.

I narrowed my eyes and nodded, slowly. He straightened himself, and then began staring at me. Then he began stepping closer to me.

"Matthew, I-"

I slapped his hand away when he reached out to touch me. He immediately let his hand drop, along with his gaze. But I took a step back, and I drew my sword – the sword he wielded during his "legendary quest", and I said:

"I've come to bring you home, Father. And you'll come with me, _whether you like it or not_."

He lifted his gaze, but kept his head bowed. He looked at me for a moment, but then averted his eyes and shook his head. My immediate response was slapping him across the face with my glove. It caused him to sway aside – of shock, mostly. He remained with his face turned to me, only blinking with his widened eyes, only beginning to register what just happened, as a red mark formed on his cheek.

Suddenly, a voice called out my name. I turned to see my friend, Tyrell, running towards me. He ran to my side, grabbed my right wrist and forced me to lower my sword.

"Matthew, _don't_!" said Tyrell. "He's good!"

"Really? Well, _I'm not bad either_!" I snarled, pointing at my broken father with my glove. "_Just look at him!_ I didn't expect a knight in shining armour, but when I hear "great hero", a _tramp_ is not what comes to mind!"

"Tramp…" whispered my father. "_Tramp_."

"He's _not_ a tramp!" said Tyrell. "He just poses-"

"I am serious, my friend! This man – is – my – father! This is what my mother waited for for _twelve years_! – When a dozen fine men have proposed to her throughout the years! She believes he left to protect us and our future in some way _but no sir, he just flew away to be free_! My uncle was right about him all along! He ran away to be free – because having a family was obviously too much for-!"

_SMACK._

I turned my face and swayed aside when a force crashed against my cheek. I spat, touched the side of my face and then looked at my father who finally stood tall before me. He stared down at me, his eyes twitching while he clutched one of his gloves in his right hand.

I smiled smugly towards him and then moved away from Tyrell, raising my sword. My friend tried to stop me, but my father waved him away with a simple gesture, his gaze never left me as he flipped some stray hairs out of his eyes, slowly drawing out his longsword. Suddenly he blinked and staggered, shaking his head. It was then I found a little detail I'd missed when I challenged him. I lowered my sword.

"I'd rather not take advantage of your drunken state," I said and pointed at his face.

He blinked again and then touched his rosy cheeks.

"Tomorrow morning," I continued. "I'll be back. Get yourself cleaned up. I don't want to bring a tramp home for Mother to see."

* * *

**I** spent most of my evening in the local inn at the outpost in the valley. I asked around about Tyrell's family and found that my friend had lived with his father and uncle since his mother fell ill and died a couple of years ago.

Apparently, during those twelve years my father hid himself in the highlands he had gone by the name John, pretending to be Tyrell's nonexistent uncle on his mother's side. Why? I don't know. I assumed he ran away to be free, but why would he be a herder here if that was the case? The only reason I could think of was that he couldn't adjust to city life, but that didn't make any sense either – he had seventeen years in Kalay for adjustment. I don't want to give my father excuses, but I can't help but wondering why he left. It is strange, really. I spent all my life hating him, and telling myself I didn't care what reasons he had for leaving us behind. But when I finally met him, I couldn't help but wonder. He writes strange reports to Uncle Ivan, so maybe he _is_ "doing research" – but why would he need to hide from the world to do it? Uncle Ivan conducted _lots_ of research projects, and _he_ was fine staying with his family in Kalay while doing it.

I went to sleep early that night, since I needed energy for tomorrow. I left early at morning before dawn. Now, I've almost reached the plateau and the first rays of the sun have touched the clouds.

Yesterday, it hadn't occurred to me that I might lose the duel, but now I am a bit worried. I've found a slight detail I've missed – I now use a sword that I am not familiar with. I wield this "ceremonial" sword instead of my own. I didn't even _bring_ my own sword when I left Kalay – I wanted to make this sword my own. This is also the only blade I find fitting to use against my father. If Uncle Ivan could give it to me, he must think I am worthy to use it. But now when I think more about it, he might not have meant for me to wield it. After all, I won't say one would instantly see "Isaac the Hero" and I were father and son if we stood side by side. I do have his eyes, I admit that, but it was his red hair that prevented instant recognition. Could Uncle Ivan possibly have given it to me just to strengthen my claim for my identity? He looks nothing like the way they portray him in theatre. They even got his hair colour wrong… But why would my family tell me he's blond when he's obviously red haired?

I force my doubts away when the sunlight stings my eyes. I've almost reached the given place for the duel. I squint and see that my father is already there, waiting for me. He is standing tall with his back turned towards me, his right hand resting on the longsword he'd planted in the ground next to him. He still wears the same clothes he did yesterday, but he had left the slouch hat at home. He hears me approaching and slowly turns to face me. The first rays of the sun touch his face and I blink.

He looks different. Of course, I had expected him to shave off his scruffy beard and wash his face. But his hair… it was suddenly a golden blond and short, like mine. I then avert my eyes and shake my head with a smile – of course, he dyed his hair to keep up his fake identity – how could I not have figured that out? I cup my jaw and touch my chin, suddenly seeing the family resemblance – I do have his face as my family often tells me.

He notices how I am staring at his face, but he says nothing. He simply removes his long coat, throwing it aside. He takes his longsword in his right hand, but still keeps it lowered when he faces me. I smile smugly and draw my own longsword. I raise it, and point it at him.

"If I win – you're coming home with me," I say, watching his moves intently.

He closes his eyes for a moment of thought.

"And if _I_ win?" he then asks and looks at me.

"Then I'll be back and fight you again tomorrow," I reply, completely aware of the possible outcomes.

He lifts his sword and moves aside. I move as well, and we circle around. I watch his moves intently. He uses my grandfather's style. And so do I. I should know how to deal with his moves. I can't beat my grandfather yet, but as far I know, the man before me couldn't best him either. But my father has experience, and that will make a difference.

"If you lose that duel too?" he then asks.

"Then I'll fight you again the next day," I reply and narrow my eyes. "l'll keep coming back until I beat you."

Finally he stops circling and shifts into a battle stance, raising his sword. I enter the same stance. Our eyes meet. He smirks.

And then our swords clash in a flurry of steel.

* * *

**T**hanks for reading.


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